Chapter 023: Only 998, Only 998!

Jing Shu really didn’t want to livestream—how could she be in the mood when the apocalypse was coming? But back then, in order to scrape together some money, she’d claimed she was going to be an internet celebrity and livestream food, and had managed to get a few million from her family, draining their savings. Now, with the whole family watching her, how could she dare not to stream?

She had to at least put on a show. More importantly, she needed to process the food into semifinished products, so it would be easier to use and save time and space during the coming apocalypse.

“You should at least bring something out, or people will complain,” Grandma Jing said nervously, eyeing the things her granddaughter had set up inside and outside the villa. “You’re starting already? Aren’t you going to say a few words to liven things up? At the very least, you should introduce what you’re selling, shout out a bit.”

Jing Shu: “…” You think yelling will bring in a crowd? This is just like hawking goods on the street.

Even old folks aren’t so easy to fool with these days.

“It’s got a kind of rustic flair—so rustic it’s almost stylish. The boiler room and the countryside look just as ugly. And why are you raising chickens and ducks now?” Grandpa Jing complained, “You can’t do it like that. Let me fix up the chicken coop for you.”

So, on the first day, Grandpa Jing, who had just been worried about his granddaughter becoming famous, immediately got busy fixing the chicken and duck pens, adding a strange touch to Jing Shu’s otherwise quiet start.

At Grandma Jing’s insistence, Jing Shu said a few words to appease her:

“Hello everyone, today I’m making a lot of chili sauce to give to relatives and for myself. If anyone’s interested, tip 998 yuan and DM me your address, and I’ll mail it to you.”

She even wrote a title: “The Daily Life of a Rich Second-Gen’s Farmhouse Cuisine—Only 998, Only 998!”

The vegetables, chickens, ducks, and cows from her space could prolong life—998 yuan a portion wasn’t expensive at all. Besides, she didn’t expect anyone to buy it; the high price was just an excuse to stockpile food for herself.

The content she recorded each day would automatically be saved as a video. Jing Shu looked back at videos from ten years ago—well, for now, it was just a month or two ago—and cringed at how silly she’d been, quickly deleting them all.

Jing Shu set up a washing area, a chopping area, and a marinating area to ensure the whole process was clean, hygienic, and additive-free. That way, when her parents asked why she hadn’t made any money, she could at least say she’d worked hard.

By the fifth day of drinking spiritual spring water, Jing Shu’s strength and stamina had noticeably increased. She could easily lift boxes of 60L chili peppers and was in charge of washing the red chilies.

Grandma Jing, fully equipped, used the automatic meat grinder to crush the chilies—an easy and simple task.

Washing the vegetables was a huge job. Jing Shu had harvested 12 square meters of red chilies from her space—each one crystal clear, fresh, plump, and abundant. Even though there wasn’t much dirt, just washing them took over two hours.

Grandma Jing couldn’t sit still. She started explaining what made a good chili, how to tell if vegetables had been sprayed with pesticides, and even demonstrated with the chilies.

A few old fans showed up, joking, “Did beauty change careers?” but that was it. Not even a single person complained about the high price, which felt a bit strange.

It was so quiet, but Grandma Jing was still happily chatting away.

Jing Shu buried herself at work. With the apocalypse just a month away, who was in the mood to livestream? Peeling and mincing garlic, peeling and chopping onions, peeling and chopping tomatoes—there was so much to do that it was noon before all the prep work was done.

Seeing that Grandma and Grandpa Jing were getting tired, Jing Shu added a drop of spiritual spring water (1 drop + 1000ml water) to their drinks and decided to give them a sip every day. There was a lot of work ahead, and they’d need their strength.

At lunch, Grandma and Grandpa Jing’s appetites increased dramatically. Both said they didn’t dare eat too much, since older people have trouble digesting them, but their stomachs kept growling, so they ended up eating their fill. It was strange—they hadn’t felt hungry or had an appetite in ages.

“The more work you do, the faster you digest, so you get hungry. If we do this much every day, we’ll have an appetite every day,” Jing Shu said with a secret smile. She was really starting to appreciate the benefits of spiritual spring water. Even No. 1, who’d had his supply halved, was still lively and showed no signs of aging.

Except for eating a bit too much… hic.

In the afternoon, Jing Shu and Grandma Jing started simmering chili sauce in two big pots on the stove, adding crushed chilies, doubanjiang, tomato paste, sugar, vinegar, and salt, boiling and stirring until the water evaporated, then turning off the heat and mixing in minced garlic, onion, and MSG.

Jing Shu packed the chili sauce into 2-liter new-style sealed jars. All those boxes of chilies made just 50 jars—about a tenth of the total. The familiar aroma made her immediately grab a steamed bun, slather it with chili sauce, and devour it… slurp, so good!

This chili sauce, if sealed and refrigerated, will last for years. She left some in the kitchen and carefully stored the rest in the basement.

The first day’s quiet livestream ended with Jing Shu’s mouth full of chili sauce. Grandma Jing looked worriedly at the mountain of chili sauce: “If this doesn’t sell, we’ll be eating it until the year of the monkey.”

Luckily, Jing Shu thought, if it didn’t sell, that’s perfect. If it did, she’d be in trouble. She left two boxes of chilies on the third floor to dry for chili powder, an essential ingredient for spicy beef jerky.

“You’re livestreaming again? So you still want to be famous! Have you thought about that contract? There are already two people in line—I’ve held them off for you, but if you don’t decide soon, I can’t help you anymore.” Zhu Zhengqi suddenly messaged.

Jing Shu slapped her forehead—how could she have forgotten this headache? In her previous life, after cooperating with him, they never crossed paths again. Zhu Zhengqi acted as a middleman, took his commission, and disappeared from her world for ten years, never to be seen again. Who would have thought…

“I’m just streaming for fun. Why don’t you go ahead and arrange for those two people? I feel bad for making them wait.”

Sure enough, Zhu Zhengqi started trying to persuade her again—if WeChat didn’t work, he’d call, and even hinted at inviting her whole family out for a meal. Jing Shu stalled: “Let me try for another month. Give me a little more time. If I’m not popular in the last month, I’ll definitely come to you.”

She really didn’t want to be famous again, nor did she want any more dealings with Zhu Zhengqi. Wouldn’t it be better if everyone just went their own way?

“Fine,” Zhu Zhengqi finally relented.

Just as Jing Shu breathed a sigh of relief and started her daily space inspection and Rubik’s Cube practice, Zhu Zhengqi started scheming.

After watching Jing Shu’s livestream at 10x speed, Zhu Zhengqi sneered, “998? You must be crazy for money! And you still want to be famous? Hmph, fine, I’ll just speed things up for you, so you don’t think this industry is so easy.”

Zhu Zhengqi spent 2,000 yuan just to curse at Jing Shu. With no popularity and no attention, and with countless people cursing her every day, even if people did show up, they’d just join in the hate, seeing a streamer selling something worth a few bucks for 998.

She was just a fresh graduate—could she handle it? Hmph.

“In less than three days, you won’t escape my grasp. I have to raise the price—by five… no, by a hundred thousand!” Zhu Zhengqi imagined the scene of Jing Shu coming to him in tears.